Masquerade
by hazelle
Summary: Movieverse, oneshot, slight VEvey. Have you ever wondered where V got all those masks from?


**This is the first plot bunny ever to come from nowhere. I was just revising this morning and this idea suddenly forced its way into my head so I simply had to stop revising and write it. Weird. And fortunate too. ;)**

**Masquerade**

He'd made thousands of papier mache masks without second thought. One a day, every day, for twenty years. It was simply a matter of duty. The routine so familiar by now that he could do it in his sleep, and indeed he often dreamed of creating fake smiles and hollow eyes that never quite looked at you, of creating an army of loyal minions in his name.

First, the contented sigh as he took his place at the workbench, the relief spreading through his fingers as the leather gloves came off. The paintbrushes and varnishes lined up neatly on a waiting table. The rasp of a file on a rough cardboard edge. The matching smile beneath his own mask.

Sometimes he would talk to the mask as he shaped its contours in his hands, telling a new face everyday of his hopes and dreams.

"One day," he would say, "One day soon, you shall give my hopes and dreams to another. We shall rise up above our oppressors as a single face, one united movement," he chuckled here, "Strength through unity, unity through faith. Oh, the irony!

"I suppose you could be called the starting point, not the end. After all, Guy Fawkes was wearing your face when he started the revolution over four hundred years ago. And England shall be wearing your face when it is finished. When I am finally finished, and I shall certainly be glad for it."

Then Evey came, and he had someone else to talk to.

The first day she stayed he forgot to make a mask. The second day she questioned his motives. By the seventh day, all that may make a man had crumbled, and the only reason why he continued to make masks was that he didn't know how to stop.

He found refuge in the simple drip of black paint on white, creating a façade born of his own for England. One a day, every day. This number doubled over the weeks, then tripled, then became an obsession. The façade of necessity he'd hidden behind for so long cracked and splintered, worming self-doubt into his carefully constructed mind. Whenever doubt began to sink its claws into his plan he would lock himself in his workroom and immerse himself in his destiny.

For to think on his plan was to doubt it, and the only way to stop thinking was to start _doing_. It was good to be doing something pro-active, even if only to reassure himself of his purpose in life. His purpose was to mould and varnish and never dream of what could be.

But between the drying of the paint and the waiting brush of varnish, he had pause to think.

"What a dilemma you've presented me with, old chum," he told the mask mournfully. "And to think, we were once so close. The best of friends since birth. The question is, have you betrayed me, or I have I betrayed you?

"You see, I used to think everything was so crystal clear. I saw everything in black and white and blood red. It is an equation, no doubt about that, but I hadn't planned on certain factors entering that equation so late in the game. Oh what a ridiculous game! No way to tell who's winning, or indeed who's playing for which side; if there are sides at all. What happened to my rulebook, I wonder?"

He sighed, not a contented sigh but a troubled one, and reluctantly added the finishing touches to the mask. Was it just the light, or did this particular mask look different to the thousands of previous ones he'd crafted?

Quickly he shook the thought off before it had chance to blossom and got to his feet, stretching the muscles in his back painfully before turning to the shelves of masks.

He started. A pair of dark eyes were watching him curiously from the shadows of the workroom, but they did not belong to a mask. Slowly Evey stepped out into the light.

"It's all a masquerade, isn't it?" She asked quietly. "You aren't certain anymore. It's all a masquerade."

Then she was gone. V moved automatically to the shelf and set the different mask with its older twins, then sat back down at his workbench and stared at the mindless smiles. He would leave that irregular mask on her bedside table tonight. The faint stirrings of a new idea formed in his mind, building, structuring, reaffirming his vendetta into righteousness. Evey's words had only served to remind him how close he had come to abandoning the plan altogether, and how that could never be allowed to happen.

"Masquerade it may be," he murmured aloud, tasting and turning the many meanings of the word. "But it serves a purpose."

**Fin**

**I have no idea what material the masks would be made from, though I doubt it would be papier mache. I obviously took V's claim that he'd been plotting revenge for 20 years literally. Just ignore the fact that it would have taken much longer for him to handcraft erm… I think Dominic said it was over a hundred thousand masks. It's fanfic people! Artistic license!**

**Anywho, please review so I may be distracted from revision further. Pretty please?**


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